


The Clients

by queenhomeslice



Series: The Client [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brothels, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, Multi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Prostitute Reader, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, fat reader, plus size reader, some heartbreak i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: The second time Geralt visits you, he brings a friend.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Series: The Client [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753774
Comments: 20
Kudos: 190
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Witcher fiction belongs to Andrzej Sapkowski; The Witcher TV series belongs to Netflix; The Witcher video game rights belong to CD Projekt/CD Projekt RED. I do not own the rights to any copyrighted material; I am not affiliated with any production companies of The Witcher games, tv shows, books, or other media; and I am not making money from this.

Roach plods back into the bayside town a few months later, with Geralt and all his usual trappings—and this time, with a new, extra member of their party. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines. “My feet are going to fall _off_ and it’s going to be _your_ fault. How would you feel, taking care of a lame bard for the rest of your life?” 

Geralt snorts. “You mean, for the rest of _your_ life. A drop in the bucket for me, bard.” 

“You’re so mean,” Jaskier huffs, and hurries up beside Roach. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of small sugar cubes. 

The mare whinnies softly and nips at the treats in Jaskier’s hand. 

“Quit spoiling my horse,” Geralt grunts. 

“Well, _one_ of you has to like me,” Jaskier sings brightly, looking up to Geralt’s face. 

The Witcher breaks—he cocks his head and there’s the ever-so-slight tug at the corners of his lips. “Hm.” 

“Ah, there’s that handsome smile we all know and love.” 

“ _You_ know and love, because you’re an idiot,” says Geralt. “Smart men fear me, not love me, and they wish not to know.” 

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “I’m your idiot,” he mutters. 

The motley crew approaches the town gates. The shabby sign that reads _Port_ _Morski_ is more weathered than Geralt remembers. The guard at the gate nods knowingly at him. 

“Never thought I’d be glad to see your lot,” he says firmly. “We’ve a real problem with ghouls these days, in the community cemetery outside of the north gates.” 

“Oh, ghouls! Oh, Geralt, that’s perfect for my next epic poem!” Jaskier strums his lute in preparation. 

“Read a book on them then,” Geralt growls. He turns to the guard. “With whom should I speak about the contract?” 

“The new lord, in the manor in the east grid.” 

Geralt nods and digs in his pouch, tossing him a few crowns for his trouble—and to stay in the good graces of the town patrol. “My thanks.” 

The guard nods and pockets the coin. “Good luck, Witcher.” 

Geralt plods to the stables again, dismounting Roach and uttering instructions to the stablehand. He turns to Jaskier, who’s smiling at him brightly. 

“How much coin do you have?” 

“Oh, enough for a room at the inn for a couple of nights, and food. Despite what you might think, I’m very popular. And people like my singing.” 

“Hm.” 

“Just because you don’t doesn’t mean others don’t, you big oaf.” 

“Fine. But...would you have enough for dinner and a night at the Rosebud?” 

Jaskier cocks an eyebrow and grins. “Geralt, I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that you don’t have to pay for that anymore.” The blush on his cheeks is evident, but he doesn’t avert his eyes. 

Geralt’s face softens. “I know. But, the last time I was here, there was...this one girl. I’d like to see her again. And...perhaps you could have some fun, too.” 

Jaskier clutches his heart and swears. “This is truly a gift from the goddess herself. Geralt of Rivia, are you inviting _me_ to have sex with both you _and_ a lady of the night?” 

Geralt snorts and tugs Jaskier out of the stables, across the road and through two alleys to a lively tavern. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he says. “We’ll get a drink here, and you will sing until I get back from negotiating with whatever spoiled little lordling has taken over this town.” 

Jaskier nods, eyes wide with wonder, like he can’t believe his good fortune. He follows Geralt into the tavern. 

_______ 

It’s late evening before you get your first customer of the day. Half of your labor isn’t even having sex anymore—you'd taken up odd jobs here and there outside of the brothel, from helping your community with farm work to helping to care for ailing relatives. The ghouls have really put a damper on the local economy; when there’s no spare coin, no one gives you a second thought. Unless it’s guests of the new town lord, or people passing through, business in the brothel is slow, which has the Madame on edge more often than not. Two girls have even left town to pursue work in larger communities. 

But Geralt of Rivia had told you to stay put, so he could find you again. And that is exactly what you plan on doing. 

There’s a knock on the door. You quickly finish tying on your sheer robe, tuck your hair behind your ears—you'd cut it a bit short and sold it to the local tailor shop for a wig, for coin—and open the door. 

You gasp as you stare up at the face you’d been dreaming about for months on end. “Geralt!” you say with delight, feeling your cheeks redden. “I _knew_ you’d come back.” 

“Popular, eh, Geralt?” comes a voice from behind the Witcher. Geralt is so big that you don’t see the second man at first until you step aside, letting Geralt and the other party through. “Oh,” says the brunette in the fancy blue doublet and matching trousers. “Geralt, if you’d told me I’d be bedding a fertility goddess, I’d have worn my other doublet.” 

He’s cute, this new friend of Geralt’s, with thick brown hair and piercing blue eyes. You eye his thin frame as he racks his gaze over your own body in return. There’s an instrument strapped to his back. You flick your gaze to Geralt as he shuts the door. 

“So, this is the bard that must be writing all those songs about you,” you tease. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service,” says Jaskier, with a sweeping bow. “But you can just call me Jaskier.” 

“Only thing he ever says that is short-lived,” mutters Geralt, removing his swords. 

You snort and Jaskier whips around, offended. “Excuse me,” the bard begins, but you step up close to him and cup his face, bidding him to turn back to you. 

“I’m __________,” you say, low and sultry. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“Oh,” says Jaskier, strong hands immediately flying to your thick waist. “Oh, darling, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” 

You grin and allow the bard to kiss you. It’s natural, like he’s done it a thousand thousand times—and he probably has. You can imagine him dancing around a tavern singing and winking and flirting with men and women alike. But tonight, the handsome bard is all yours—as is your secret love, the Witcher. 

You pull away to eye Geralt, who’s already down to his small clothes. “Oh, but I’ve missed you. So very much.” 

Geralt hums affectionately and bends at the knees, lifting you up, bridal style. You bury your face in his thick neck and inhale, growing hot and lightheaded as you’re assaulted with his unique scent. 

“Oh, that’s just darling,” breathes Jaskier, fumbling off his lute and his boots in a hurried effort to get naked. “Geralt, do you always pick her up like that?” 

The Witcher shrugs, watching as Jaskier undresses. “No one else will do it for her.” 

“Such weak men! I am embarrassed for my gender, Miss ___________. You’re gorgeous. Why, if you traveled with us, I’d pick you up all you like.” 

Geralt snorts and makes his way to the bed, setting you gently on your fresh cotton sheets. “I’m stronger than you,” the Witcher counters, finally seeing to his shirt and breeches. 

“Hm, possibly. But _one_ of us walks for weeks on end across the continent, and carries a lute, and plays _and_ sings as he does it. One of us is lazy, and rides a horse, and will not share.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes. You look from him to Jaskier and back, and burst out laughing. “I am quite endeared to your friend here, Geralt.” 

“He won’t admit we’re friends, not even when I’m riding his cock like _I’m_ being paid for it.” 

Your eyes widen. “You mean, you and him...” You lick your lips and feel your face heat up even further. “I didn’t realize.” 

Geralt shrugs. 

“His cock _is_ magnificent, isn’t it?” Jaskier coos. He’s finally naked, and you get an eyeful of him—thick dark chest hair, surprisingly built body, larger than average cock, even soft (though not as big as Geralt’s). “I’m so glad I have someone to talk to about it.” 

“I, uh. Yes.” You lick your lips, turning to a very naked Witcher. “Fuck, I’m not sure which one of you I want first?” 

Geralt looks at Jaskier and lifts an eyebrow. “Why not both at the same time? Surely we can manage that, eh, bard?” 

“Oh, of _course_ we can,” says Jaskier, gliding to the bed, eyes narrowed and already blacked out with lust. 

You gulp and undo the large bow that’s holding your sheer robe closed. _It’s going to be a long night_. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was going to have so much more smut but I threw too many feelings in here instead, I'm so fucking sorry

There had been some light arguing about who was going to do who first, and put what where, in what position, but ultimately—ultimately, Geralt and Jaskier have you spit-roasted between them, on all fours on your large, luxurious bed. Geralt is taking you from behind in long, slow, _agonizing_ thrusts—each rock of his hips pushes you further onto Jaskier’s thick cock. The bard moans beautifully each time you’re forced to take him to the hilt, holding his hands just behind each of your ears, dexterous fingers twisting in your short hair. 

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw stretched to accommodate him, drool and precum dripping out around his length and onto the sheets below. Years of practice has mostly gotten you over your gag reflex, and you know how to keep breathing through your nose, but it’s still difficult, with Geralt pounding into you on the other end. 

“Oh, lovely, you’re doing _so_ well,” Jaskier croons as you’re forced further down. “Isn’t she, Geralt? Just bloody perfect.” 

Geralt grunts and digs his fingers into your fatty hips, leveling his gaze at the bard. “Good,” says Geralt. He half-smiles and cocks his head at Jaskier. “Should we fill her up at the same time?” 

You moan around Jaskier’s cock, reveling in his shudder at the vibrations it sends along his dick. 

“Oh, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier purrs, petting your head. “Sounds like our fertility goddess is keen on the idea.” 

Geralt just hums and you feel him move one hand to the small of your back, sword-calloused fingers dancing over smooth, fat skin. You shiver under his light ministrations, wiggling your ass against his hips. He grunts and leans down over you, rugged chest to your back. He steadies himself on one his impossibly thick arms and brings the other underneath you to grope at your heavy, hanging breast. 

“Ready, Jask?” he breathes, biting your earlobe. 

“Gods yes,” Jaskier groans as you swirl your tongue around his cock. “I’m so ready, Geralt, _please_.” 

“Hm.” And finally Geralt lets go, lets himself finally fuck into you like he wants to. You hang on for dear life, your world narrowing down to holding your jaw open for Jaskier to pump into, and to steady your breathing. 

Jaskier is as noisy as ever, now that you’re being so roughly forced onto his cock, but you do your best to swirl your tongue around every inch that you can. His fingers in your hair wind tighter, but it’s a grounding pain. Geralt keeps himself low over you, rutting into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get. 

“Geralt,” says Jaskier, crying and breathless. “I can’t hold on anymore, I can’t...” 

“Come, then,” says Geralt calmly. 

Jaskier whines high and loud and holds your head steady as he releases down your throat. You barely taste him because he’s so far in, but you’re grateful for it anyway. The bard is beautiful, and it excites you that he’s so eager to lie with you tonight. 

“Fuck,” is all Geralt says before he stills his hips. You feel the witcher’s hot, thick seed pouring into you as far in as he can possibly get, stretching you out and filling you up like he was made for it. You stay still as his cock throbs inside of you; Jaskier pulls out, spent. 

Geralt pulls out a minute later, maneuvering you so that you’re lying between the two men on the bed. Geralt conforms to the curve of your body from the back, and Jaskier snuggles up to your front, pressing soft kisses to your chubby face, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

Geralt strokes your neck and lifts your hair, placing a kiss below your ear. “You hair,” he grunts. “Shorter.” 

“Yeah,” you croak, voice raspy and throat raw from taking Jaskier’s cock so forcefully. “Sold it, for coin. Sorry. Do you hate it?” 

Geralt grumbles out a laugh. “What does it matter if I hate it or like it? It’s hair, it’ll grow back.” 

“Well,” you yawn, nuzzling into Jaskier’s soft chest hair. “I want to stay attractive for you.” 

Jaskier’s cheeks flush at your words and looks over you to Geralt, pleading with his eyes. 

“Hm.” 

“You’re lovely,” croons Jaskier, planting a kiss on the top of your head. He threads his fingers with Geralt’s, resting both of their hands on your side. “I’m sure your long hair was stunning. But your short hair is youthful and fun.” 

You giggle a little, kissing the bard’s chest. “Thanks.” 

“You’re attractive,” says Geralt, kissing your shoulder. “Wouldn’t have asked for you again if you were not.” 

“Means a lot,” you whisper, feeling yourself already sapped of energy. _But wait, doesn’t_ _Geralt_ _usually_ —you flip around to face the witcher. “You only came once? Was I...not good this time?” 

“No,” says Geralt, kissing you softly on the lips. “You were so good. Sorry, it’s not you, it’s just...I’ve taken the contract for the ghouls.” 

“Stress,” you say quietly, nodding. You reach out to cup Geralt’s chiseled jaw. “Rest with me for a few hours before your hunt, please.” 

“Hm.” Geralt closes his eyes and leans into your hand. 

“We’re here, Geralt. It’ll be alright, love,” Jaskier continues, squeezing his witcher’s hand. 

“Ghouls are more active after midnight,” he says. “I have to go then. But for now, I will stay here, with you.” 

You don’t know if he’s talking to you or Jaskier, or both—but you’re content to fall asleep between the two beautiful men in your bed, feeling at ease for the first time in months. 

You wake in the early morning to find Geralt gone, of course—but Jaskier is still here, cleaning himself with your washcloth and basin full of water. You sit up, letting the sheets fall away from your chest. Jaskier turns at the rustle of cloth. 

“Ah, the goddess has awoken,” he purrs. He’s only half-dressed, fancy doublet and trousers still on the floor by his lute and boots. He's in his underclothes, looking radiant in the morning light. 

“Geralt’s gone, then? He hasn’t returned?” 

The bard senses the worry in your voice. “Oh he has returned. Came back to tell me as soon as the ghouls were taken care of. He’s most likely at the tavern across the way, eating breakfast, and securing a room for us at the inn.” 

You sigh in relief. “I’m glad to hear of it. Perhaps our town can begin to thrive again.” 

Jaskier clicks his tongue as he begins to dress. “You mentioned something, last night,” he says, fumbling into his fancy clothes. “About wanting to remain attractive for him.” 

You nod, wiping the sleep from your eyes. “It’s stupid, right? A whore falling for a witcher. Of all the stupid things...” 

Jaskier turns and leaps onto the bed, suddenly cupping his face in your hands and kissing you breathless. 

“It’s not stupid at all,” he whispers as he pulls away. “I know the feeling all too well.” 

You sniff back tears as you look at the handsome bard. “Last time—last time I offered to come with him, be his companion—I offered to mend his clothes, cook, be _his_ , when he wanted it—” 

Jaskier nods, knowing. “And he let you down, gently. Because that’s what he is, isn’t he? So gentle, at the end of the day. Hardly the monster the public makes him out to be.” 

You nod, looking away. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. I just...” 

“Geralt is...complicated.” Jaskier drops his hands and sits. “They say that witchers are emotionless, but that’s not the case. The emotions are there, just buried, slow to blossom and unfold and show themselves, like the rarest of flowers. Geralt cares more about the people he meets than anyone I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like you or I, and can get confused when mere humans are so forward towards him. Almost like...” Jaskier tilts his head and purses his lips in thought. “Like he won’t let himself deserve it. Won’t let himself have nice things, be surrounded by love and friendship, a beautiful woman in his bed every night, a true _friend_.” 

“Yet he lets you travel with him.” 

Jaskier chuckles awkwardly. “Yes, well. I suppose I’m more of a bully than most. I simply insist on following him around like a helpless fool. He is my muse, after all—I'm trying to repair his public image. Give everyone a higher opinion of him, and of witchers in general.” 

“He said life on the road was rough.” 

“Oh darling,” breathes Jaskier. “My poor feet! I’ve never walked so much in my entire life. Camping, bathing in a river, shitting in the woods, having to hunt or fish for your supper, sleeping on the _ground—”_ He flops backwards on the sheets and sighs in contentment. 

You laugh. “Sounds pretty horrible, if you ask me.” 

“Mmmmm,” says Jaskier, smiling. “I’m partial to finery and silk and courts, myself. But...” 

“But you’re with him,” you finish. “So it’s worth it.” 

“Quite,” says Jaskier, sitting up. 

You sigh. “I’m a city girl—I suppose I would only be a burden. I can imagine what he does is dangerous—and he implied that if I got hurt because of him, he wouldn’t live it down.” 

“That’s Geralt for you, the big caring oaf. No emotions, my ass. Doesn’t want to let you come because he’s afraid he’s not strong enough to protect you—to protect all of us.” 

“I haven’t left here, even through the ghouls, the slow business ...because Geralt told me to stay here, so he’d know where to find me.” 

Jaskier nods, smiling. “And you did, and he found you again. And I got to meet you, which has been a dream, truly.” He kisses you again, slow and sweet. 

There’s a bang on the door, and the Madame’s sharp voice cuts into the room, telling Jaskier he’s overstayed his welcome. 

“Right you are Madame, I was just leaving!” he calls, scrambling out of the bed to finish dressing. 

You pick your robe up from the floor and tie it around you. “Will I see you two again?” 

Jaskier shrugs and shoulders his lute. “I should certainly hope so. If you have the evening free, you should come to see us. I promise that my rates are good.” 

You giggle snort and slug Jaskier on the shoulder as he, too, laughs at his own joke. 

With a dramatic bow and a few more fancy words, the bard is out of your room and down the stairs before the Madame can get another word in edgewise. 

You move to start preparing yourself—and your room—for the next potential customers...but your heart and mind are still with Geralt of Rivia and his bard. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudo if you liked it!


End file.
